


How Druella Drulington Came to be Employed.  Or, How Misters Unwin-Hart Were Roundaboutly Responsible for Getting Roxy a Girlfriend

by ilokheimsins



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:18:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6498751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilokheimsins/pseuds/ilokheimsins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Druella rather thought that if Mister Unwin-Hart the younger, better known as Eggsy, could please stay clothed for more than four hours in the presence of Mister Unwin-Hart the elder, better known as Harry, she might get to go a full month without seeing his nipples.  Or his arse.  Or, as she stares at Eggsy hitting people in his birthday suit, his cock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Druella Drulington Came to be Employed.  Or, How Misters Unwin-Hart Were Roundaboutly Responsible for Getting Roxy a Girlfriend

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have a million and a half fics I should be actually working on. But this came to me while I was at work and seeing as I did not have any of the million and a half fics on my work laptop I decided to write this while some interminably long test was running.
> 
> There will also be no updates of any sort, except maybe short drabbles, until after May 4th, at which point I will finally be free from exams and assignments!!!!

Druella Drulington was the rather unfortunate victim of her mother’s penchant for alliteration and her father’s inability to say no when his wife was crushing every bone in his hand during labor.  She was, as it happened, in the present times a rather ordinary young woman in possession of what her father called “a keen eye and a keener sense of curiousity” and another fascinating ability her mother termed “being a wallflower, even at her own party.”

It was a combination of these abilities that led to Druella, gaping slackjawed in an intensely unladylike fashion, standing in the doorway to the upper office in the Unwin-Hart residence watching the younger Mister Unwin-Hart’s pert arse as he rode the elder Mister Unwin-Hart into orgasmic oblivion on what looked to be a very cushiony, leather office chair.  It certainly creaked as if it were made of leather.

It took a moment for the elder Mister Unwin-Hart to notice her, but when he did, he grabbed the younger Mister Unwin-Hart (Eggsy, her dazed brain took a moment to remind her) and began to stutter an apology as he had the last twenty seven and a half times she had accidentally seen him engaged in such proclivities.

Most fortuitously – for the elder Mister Unwin-Hart anyway, the window at the far end of the office chose that moment to explode inwards and spew into the room a rather large number of unwanted guests coated head to toe in black.  The younger Mister Unwin-Hart (Eggsy, her dazed brain reminded her again) went at them immediately brandishing naught more than a scallywag’s smirk, his fists, and his cock, which was still hard in a testament to his…er…youthful vivacity.  Or perhaps Eggsy (finally, her brain sighed) was simply horny.

Regardless of the current reason for the situation, Druella was unable to tear her eyes away from the naked form, eyes fixed and mouth agape as the young man bounced to and fro, kicking and punching with precision.  When he finally stopped, nary a hair was out of place save for what had already been mussed by Mister Unwin-Hart the older, it took Druella until his cock stopped bouncing to remember that she should close her mouth and back out.  She had just figured that perhaps she should compose herself when a beautiful young woman came sprinting up the stairs and began yelling at both Misters Unwin-Hart.

Druella did what she felt was the smart thing and fainted.

***

But of course, it is most impolite to start a story at the end.  To understand how our dear Druella came to be in this situation, we must first understand that it is entirely the fault of Mister Unwin-Hart the older, once upon a time known simply as Mr. Hart.

***

It starts some twenty seven years ago, when our Druella was but a precocious four year old, too curious for her supposedly upper crust upbringing and too shy to act upon her curiousity.  As such, it became that many, if not all, of her mother and father’s acquaintances remarked upon how she would stare at them as if cataloguing them for a collection.  To which her mother’s acquaintances would then titter about and talk about how they too wished their daughters were as quiet and well behaved as Druella.  Her father’s acquaintances offered her sweets and then told her to run off, which she very gladly did.

It really began when she was at a garden party for something or other and, in her quest to avoid the young boys who had taken to pulling at her pigtails before running off laughing, she latched onto a leg in a suit that looked very much like the one her father had donned that morning.

It turned out, very soon in fact, that this leg was not in fact attached to her father but a very different man, one Druella thought was much handsomer than her father.  He blinked warm brown eyes at her from behind black spectacles and smiled rather sunnily down at her.  He put his plate down on a nearby table and knelt down until he was approximately eye level with her.

“Hello,” he said and Druella immediately thought of chocolate, the good kind her mother allowed her to have once every other day – the sort that melts in your mouth slowly and is like eating velvet.

“Hello,” she said in reply because she had been raised properly in her manners.

He smiled a bit wider and said, “You’re quite a delightful young girl, aren’t you.  Though you seem to have been separated from your parents.”

Druella nodded and told him, “I can’t see them from down here.  My father’s suit looks a lot like yours.”

A realization came over the man’s face.  It was only a small one but Druella, possessed of her keen eye, saw it nonetheless.

“Well then, would you be amenable to being carried up higher to search for them?”

Druella nodded and held her hands out.  The man very delicately picked her up and stood back up.  Druella gasped when he straightened fully.  The world was so very different from up here, so void of…feet.

“Now, my dear, it is only polite we introduce ourselves,” the man interrupted amusedly after a moment.  “My name is Harry Hart.”

“Mr. Hart, my name is Druella,” Druella said dutifully and reached her hand out to shake Mr. Hart’s as she had seen her father do many times with his associates.

“Well, Druella, perhaps you can tell me which of these fine folks belong to you and we can see about reuniting you with expedience,” Harry said.

“My dad says his full name is Frederick Drulington and he gets rather twitchy about the fingers when he’s bored,” Druella said.  “My mother is Miranda Drulington and she starts to eat faster when she wants to get out of a conversation.”

There was a moment’s silence and Druella looked away from her search of the party goers to see Mr. Hart looking at her with interest.

“Druella, would you like to play a game with me while we search for your father’s twitchy fingers and your mother’s evasive eating?”

“Of course.  I’m four.  Games are brilliant,” she effused and then looked down.  She was glad of her darker skin for it meant that Mr. Hart could not see her blush.  “Sorry, Mother says I get too excited over games.”

“It’s very simple,” Mr. Hart assured her.  “I’ll name someone or point them out to you and you have to tell me what you can see about them after thirty seconds.”

“Alright.”

“Mmm,” Mr. Hart hummed as he nimbly evaded a trio of ladies with large hats. “How about Mr. Farthington?”

Druella sat up a bit straighter in Mr. Hart’s arms and squinted at Mr. Farthington until Mr. Hart called the thirty seconds.

“He forgot to use the lint roller on his suit after playing with the dogs and he really, really wishes Mrs. Farthington were here because Timmy keeps trying to run away and he only ever really listens to his mother,” Druella blew out in one breath.

Mr. Hart took a moment to look at the young boy who ran shrieking past Mr. Farthington for the fifth time in the last minute and the very tired way Mr. Farthington shook his head and sighed for the fifth in the same minute.

“I do believe you are correct, my dear Druella,” Mr. Hart praised and continued on to his next quarry.

By the time they made their way over to Druella’s parents – her mother was indeed eating quickly and her father was twitching his fingers and going slightly glass eyed at the story Mesdam Oferson was telling, Mr. Hart had asked her to tell him about six other people, only once correcting her.

“Oh, there you are Druella,” her mother seized upon the opportunity to leave Mesdam Oferson behind and came over to retrieve her from Mr. Hart.

“You are a very brilliant young girl,” Mr. Hart told Druella, “and I did enjoy playing our puzzle game.”

“Can I come play more puzzle games with you sometime?” Druella asked politely, looking beseechingly between her parents and Mr. Hart.

“Shh, darling, don’t bother Mr. Hart now.”

“Oh, it’s no bother,” Mr. Hart waved her father off.  “I am rather busy and on an odd schedule but I would be delighted to have Druella over for more puzzle games.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Her mother smiled, “What do we say, Druella?”

“Thank you, Mr. Hart,” Druella recited dutifully.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Hart said.  “It is not every day one meets such an engaging child.”

He tilted his head slightly at that moment, as if listening to something, before he said, “Excuse me, I’m afraid work calls.”

“Of course,” her father replied.  “A good day to you, Mr. Hart.”

“And to you, Mr. and Mrs. Drulington.  To you too, Druella.”  He smiled at her and Druella smiled back.

As she watched Mr. Hart walk away, she decided then and there that she would one day grow up to marry Mr. Hart and become Mrs. Hart.

***

Over the next few years, she became well acquainted with the inside of Mr. Hart’s home, specifically the types of all the butterflies on his walls, Mr. Pickles, and the numerous and unending stacks of puzzles that Mr. Hart had.

Some days they did logic puzzles and other days Mr. Hart would take her out for a walk and ask her again to tell him what she could learn about people simply by looking.  And every time Druella went over, she was surer and surer that she would one day become Mrs. Hart.

Of course, when she reached the age of thirteen, her ardor died away somewhat when Mr. Hart brought a beautiful woman called Maria Castilliano to one of the garden parties.  She was beautiful with skin tanned bronze by the sun, warm brown eyes that seemed to glow, and full lips that parted around smiles and laughs clearer than church bells.

Druella was determined to hate her, as people tend to when they are very young and the object of their affection has seemingly been stolen.  But Maria – and she did insist on being called Maria – took an immediate liking to her and was just as insistent on playing logic and spying games with her as Mr. Hart was.

“And the one over there,” she said as she lifted Druella to give her a better look.  Druella was rather surprised at Maria’s strength, as Druella was a teenager now, thank you very much, and weighed a far sight more than a child.  She was so surprised in fact that she nearly forgot to look.  Maria held her up for the full thirty seconds before bringing her back down and eagerly awaiting her answer.

“He tries to shave himself and fails at it.  His wife probably used to do it for him but she’s left him now and he hasn’t really quite gotten the hang of not having her around.  His trousers are wrinkled in the wrong places and he keeps reaching into his pocket, which is probably where he keeps his ring,” Druella told her.

Maria clapped her hands in delight and pressed quick fluttering kisses to each of Druella’s cheeks.

“A delightful brilliant girl, just as Harry told me,” she said.

Druella perked up at that.  Mr. Hart told other people about her?  Perhaps there was hope yet.  She spent the rest of the afternoon with Maria and liked her a great deal more now that she knew there was potentially hope.

***

Her hopes were finally and permanently killed when she was fifteen.  She was reading on the couch in Mr. Hart’s living room, feet daintily tucked up under her, when the front door was flung open and Mr. Hart came stumbling in attached at the mouth to another man.

He pushed the other man up against the wall and dropped to his knees.  Druella was in such shock that she could not do anything as the other man threaded his right hand through Mr. Hart’s hair and set the other to clutching at the doorway table.  Mr. Hart’s head began to move and Druella thought she might simply die of lack of oxygen if she didn’t remember to breathe sometime soon.

It was only when the man, whose eyes had been closed this entire time, cried out, “Gods, yes, Harry, your fucking mouth,” that Druella gasped and dropped her book.  It hit the coffee table on its way down and smacked onto the hardwood floor with a loud sound that had the man against the wall snapping his eyes open and Mr. Hart whipping around.

They all froze for a moment and then Mr. Hart vaulted to his feet and wiped his mouth on a shirt cuff and wiped his hands down on his slacks.

“Uh, er, well, Druella, I wasn’t expecting you,” he said.

“I came to feed Mr. Pickles,” she heard herself say faintly.

As if on cue, the little terrier came speeding down the entrance way yipping in delight at the sight of his master.

“Ah, well, um.  Have you met Rupert?”

Druella distantly recognized it for the redirection it was and said, “Um, no.  Hello, I’m Druella.”

“Rupert,” the man said, as he smirked at Mr. Hart.  “I would shake your hand but I’m not sure it would be very sanitary given the circumstances.”

“No, no I suppose it wouldn’t,” Druella agreed.

“Perhaps we can discuss this tomorr—”

“Are you gay?” Druella blurted out and then covered her mouth.

Mr. Hart blinked at her.

“Well, no.  Bisexual, though I do lean more towards men,” Mr. Hart explained as he tried to push his hair into a position that didn’t quite shout to the world what he had just been doing.

“Oh.  Well,” Druella said.

“Yes.  Well.”

Rupert was doing a poor job of holding in laughter and eventually he just gave into it and said, “Druella, pleasure to meet you, but I’m sure you want some time to collect your thoughts.  I believe you two had an appointment for tomorrow?”

Druella nodded.

“Then that will give you a good twenty four hours to collect yourself for a good discussion with Harry.”

Druella took the out and fled.

***

She and Mr. Hart had a very thorough talk and Druella told him that she thought she might be leaning towards women, for she noticed the gentle curves and sweet smells of the girls at school more than anything she could recall at all about the boys.

Mr. Hart told her this was all very well and good, gave her a cup of tea and a chocolate digestive and the day’s logic puzzles and that righted everything.

It was also when, as she watched Mr. Hart squint down at his puzzle in consternation, that Druella decided she would not be becoming Mrs. Hart after all – perhaps she would find someone to become Mrs. Drulington – and that she was perfectly fine with that.

***

“Oh, um, Druella, didn’t see you there—”

“I, um, can come back later?”

“Harry, if you have a girlfriend, you could have said so earlier.”

“I’m not his girlfriend!  I just have a casserole for him.”

“Thank you, Druella dear, guuuugh.”

“I’ll leave it on the table.”

“That, fuck, that would probably be best.”

***

“Mr. Hart, I got first place in—”

“Fuck, um, Druella, would you mind coming tomorrow?”

“…I’m just going to leave the paper here.”

“That would probably be best.”

***

And so on it went, until Druella had walked in on Mr. Hart in various states of undress and copulation nine and a half times – the half being the very first time she saw Mr. Hart and Rupert.

It got to the point where, if she felt the urge to charge into Mr. Hart’s home with her newest accomplishment, she closed her eyes first and went in accomplishment first.

It served her very well through her placid university days and when she started working.  It worked incredibly well until her thirtieth birthday, in fact.  She felt it was quite laudable that she had only walked in on Mr. Hart, who was surprisingly impatient when it came to getting into bed with his lover of the moment, nine and a half times in the last fifteen years.  Unfortunately, it went downhill very, very quickly from there.

For it was around this time that Mr. Hart brought home a young Mr. Unwin, who sported a cheeky smirk, a clever wink, and a nearly insatiable sexual appetite.  She met Mr. Unwin when she went over to deliver a basket of cookies and let herself in through the kitchen as always, where she promptly dropped the basket and tried to flee, knocking her head on the cabinet in her hasty turn.

The young blonde man trying to suck Mr. Hart’s soul out through his mouth stopped at the sounds and immediately came to help her, whereupon she found out he was wearing a very tiny, very tight pair of briefs and a shirt that hung off him and was obviously Mr. Hart’s.

“Are you alright?” He asked and helped her over to the table while Mr. Hart rummaged in the freezer for ice.

“Yes,” she squeaked as he shoved his face quite close to hers and lifted her bangs out of the way to stare at her forehead.

“Here, Eggsy,” Mr. Hart handed a little baggie of ice wrapped in a cloth to the young man.  He pressed it to her head and instructed her to hold it there.

“Eggsy?” She asked.

“Gary Unwin, actually.  But just call me Eggsy,” he said with a wink.

Druella just about thought she might die.  In all her years of knowing Mr. Hart, all his lovers had been posh like him, cultured and refined and less heart attack inducing.  None strode around with the brashness Eggsy did – save for Rupert who had turned out to be Mr. Hart’s very good friend – and certainly none had told her to hold still while they shone a tiny torch in her eyes to verify she didn’t have a concussion.

“Nah, looks like you’re all good,” he finally declared.

“Thank you, Mr. Unwin,” she said.

He shook his head, “call me Eggsy.  It’s weird that you’re older than me and call me Mr. Unwin.”

“…thank you, Eggsy.”

“Swell,” he smiled brightly at her.

“Yes, swell,” she said faintly as he bounced away to plant an intense kiss on Mr. Hart before announcing that he needed to shower and left the room.

“Erm, well,” Mr. Hart said as he had said the last nine and a half times.

“Um,” Druella said and put down the bag of ice.

“I’ll come back tomorrow and you can introduce us properly?” She said finally.

“That would probably be a good idea,” Mr. Hart agreed.

***

Which would be, of course, the reason that Druella walked in on them rutting against one another in the living room less than twenty hours after the previous incident.  She’d thought Mr. Hart had been gone quite a long time to try and find Mr. Unwin – Eggsy, she reminded herself – and thought that they might perhaps need help.

This apparently set the trend for the next few months, where she walked in on Mr. Hart and Eggsy engaged in all manners of sexual acts all over the Hart residence at least twice a month.  She still had unfortunately timed flashbacks of Eggsy grabbing his chest and asking Mr. Hart if he liked his tits or of the time Eggsy had quickly removed himself from under Mr. Hart’s office table, mouth shiny and red.

Rather quickly though, Mr. Hart and Eggsy became Mr. Unwin-Hart and Mr. Unwin-Hart as Eggsy breezed through the community, endearing one and all to him, even the sneering Mesdam Oferson, who Druella uncharitably thought should have perished by now given that she was a hundred and looked like it.  She watched proudly as Eggsy wore his suits and his street wear in equal measure and turned the charm up to a twelve with such brilliance that the Stanhope Mews community accepted him without so much as a “Mr. Hart’s gone and gotten himself a _chav_.”

It was all quite nice, all around, and Druella began to get a bit better about not walking in on Misters Unwin-Hart and the incidents slowly trickled down until they did not exist at all.  Which explained quite quickly why she found herself unable to move as she watched Mister Unwin-Hart the younger’s thick arse bounce as he moved up and down.

It was a faint and sour thought that this was because all the immunity she had built up walking in on the two of them was now gone.

***

“Oh, good, she’s coming around,” a woman’s voice says.

“Dru?  You alright?”  Eggsy’s voice says.

Druella opens her eyes and immediately shuts them in the face of the blinding ceiling lights.

“Druella, dear?  Eggsy is very sorry,” Mr. Unwin-Hart’s voice says.

“Soz, Dru, didn’t think you’d be over for another half hour at least,” Eggsy says apologetically and pats her hand.

She works up the mettle to open her eyes slowly to adjust to the lights and finds Eggsy and Mr. Unwin-Hart and the same lovely young woman from earlier all looking at her in concern.

“I’m fine,” she says.

“Er, well,” Mr. Unwin-Hart begins.

“Harry, I’m very fine” she assures him.

Harry looks visibly relieved and says, “Oh, good, I was beginning to wonder when you would start calling me Harry.”

“Now that she’s awake, you two can shoo,” the young woman says and makes a dismissive gesture at the both of them.

“I’m Roxanne, but call me Roxy,” she turns to Druella without bothering to see if Eggsy and Harry have left.

“Druella,” she says and shakes Roxy’s hand.

“Er,” Roxy hems nervously.

“Yes?”

“Would you, oh, perhaps, be amenable to dinner?  With me?” She asks.

“Like a date?”

“Yes, I suppose, yes, it would be a date,” Roxy clarifies.

Druella smiles and says, “Yes, I would like that.”

***

Unbeknownst to the both of them, Eggsy and Harry are crouched at the crack of the open door.  Well, Eggsy is crouched, Harry is looking fond and amused from one of the chairs on the other side of the hall.

“See, tol’ you they’d get on,” Eggsy says triumphantly.

“And that would have nothing to do with you extolling Druella’s virtues to Roxy at every possible moment, would it?”

“Nah, have no clue what yer on about, babe,” Eggsy says easily and gets up to meander over to Harry.  He settles himself onto Harry’s lap and puts his arm around his shoulders to toy with the soft hairs at the back of his neck.

“I think they’ll be busy a bit.  And we never did get to finish up,” Eggsy muses.

“No, Eggsy.”

Unfortunately for Harry, he’s never quite developed a proper immunity to the wicked gleam in Eggsy’s eyes when he sets his mind to things, which is, in fact, how Druella walks in on the two of them for the eighteenth time, bringing her grand total of having seen Harry sexually engaged to a grand total of twenty eight and a half.

Roxy helpfully shields her eyes and Rupert – who she later learns is called Merlin – comes storming down the halls shouting “EGGSY AND HARRY UNWIN HART NOT IN MY MEDICAL WING.”

He tosses the two of them out, though Eggsy is still smirking lasciviously, and then turns around to offer her a job as a handler.

“A what?”

“A handler,” Rupert says again.

“A…what?”

Rupert looks at her for a moment and then says dryly, “They didn’t tell you did they.  They were supposed to explain after the incident, which I’m sure you recall, where unidentified men in black came pouring in through their window.”

“Oh.  No, they didn’t.”

“Well, I’ll leave Roxy to explain it to you over dinner.  You may tell me your decision tomorrow,” Rupert says.  He stalks away, muttering murderously about stupid Arthur and his stupidly insatiable Galahad.

***

Druella learns the whole of the story from Roxy over a very good pasta dinner and accepts the next morning.  She bursts into the Unwin-Hart residence to share the good news and not even the sight of Eggsy, hair tousled and moaning like a slag, bent over the breakfast island with Harry’s head buried in his neck dampens her mood.

Though she does refrain from partaking in breakfast off the island, insisting that they perhaps stand when she realizes that there’s possibly not a single horizontal surface in the house that someone’s bare arse hasn’t touched.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://www.ilokheimsins.tumblr.com).


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